4.21 (a dream)

I saw Death today.

It had been too long since the last time it visited me in my sleep.

It was a strange dream and I was in a strange place with some friends whose faces I couldn’t recognise. In fact, I couldn’t recognise any of them. Not their voices nor their gestures, not their shapes nor their presence. But still, I knew they were my friends. I guess it’s the kind of relationship you establish with your dream companions, that pact of familiarity you make with the strangest parts of yourself, those ones you have always known but only get to meet in your dreams.

We were running away from something, I think. Or perhaps we were carrying something with us, some kind of unseen cargo that only exists to give the dreamer a feeling of purpose but then you never really get to see.

            I don’t know.

We had been cast adrift in a quiet sea. The sky was the colour of grey granite, and the ever present, ever still clouds were just as thick. Yet, from some place I can’t recall, pale beams of dying light filtered, giving the water, the boats, our faces a ghostly luminosity the like of which can only be found in dreams.

I don’t know how much time we had been sailing those stony waters. I don’t even know whether there had existed something, anything before the grey, hungry sea had decided to swallow the world.

I guess there had been. There must have been. I don’t know. We didn’t know. None of us knew.

Oddly enough, we didn’t talk to each other. There weren’t many chances though. We were travelling in three separate boats. I remember seeing my friends slowly drifting before me in their small ships, their expressions fixed, their gaze unfocused, as if they had decided that the external world was not worth experiencing and had locked themselves in themselves.

Was I travelling alone? I don’t know. I think I remember feeling some kind of presence in the boat, just within reach, but I can’t recall seeing him or her or it not even once. Perhaps I was alone. Perhaps my friends were just reflections of myself, each of them a crack in the mirror of my mind.

Perhaps I was the reflection.

            I don’t know.

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